


Happy?

by triggerlil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, F/F, HP Femslash MiniFest, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Pansy Parkinson, Self-Doubt, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/pseuds/triggerlil
Summary: Pansy tried not to care that Ginny was gone so much. She was supposed to be her number one fan, for Merlin's sake. But a niggling doubt had slowly crept into Pansy’s mind. She wasn’t sure when it had started: when Ginny left, or before? Maybe the doubt had been resting there, in her chest, waiting for the right moment to make itself known, to remind Pansy that she didn’t deserve this.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33
Collections: Music - Potions - Parenting - May/June2020





	Happy?

**Author's Note:**

> I used the [HP Femslash Minifest](https://hpfemslash-minifest.tumblr.com/post/618339259959640064/hp-femslash-minifest-mayjune-2020-prompts-are) May/June prompts of music and potions. The song referenced in the fic is [Cover Me In Roses by Holden Lawrence](https://open.spotify.com/track/1Xs2hLivBiU1s4ORzp9aYX?si=tR1UIS_hTrGvAKZxmSqmbA).
> 
> Thank you to Jack, lastontheboat, Sally, and Lep for the betas! 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments welcome. (Also if you liked this, I have a big fanart/fanfic Ginsy piece coming soon)!

Pansy stirred her potion lazily, watching the robin’s egg blue transition into a bubbly pink. What had happened to good old fashioned green, hmm? She would give anything for a nice green and silver potion right now. 

It had been a few years since she had last set foot in the Slytherin common room. If she closed her eyes in the basement, she could imagine the shadows of the Great Lake shifting across the stone walls, mixed with the flickering of torchlight. 

She both missed and wanted to forget those days. She’d made a lot of mistakes back then, all done up in Hogwarts robes, hair a perfectly sliced bob, black ankle boots clicking on the cold floors. For starters, she’d kissed a few blokes. Looking back, she was unsure how she’d thought that she could ever be interested in men. There was also that whole... Great Hall debacle... Which she was still having a hard time living down. 

Maybe it was a byproduct of growing up in the dungeons, but even now, standing in front of the blistering fire under her cauldron, she had icy knuckles and bloodless fingertips. She was always cold.

She clenched her fists, begging her circulation to improve. 

Only one thing seemed to warm her these days, and she was nowhere to be seen. Ginevra had fucked off to the Quidditch championships for the past three weeks, and Pansy had to finish this potion for the shipment that weekend. What one had to do for three months, to prepare for one measly game, she had no idea. 

She wiped a hand across the sweat beading on her forehead, her cool hands feeling wonderful on her flushed face. She wore a headband to push her bangs out of her eyes, and although her hair was still short like her days at Hogwarts, now it was jagged and lopped, evidence that she had been cutting it herself. 

She refused to go to any of the quite honestly plebeian hairdressers that Ginny often suggested, but she couldn’t face the glares at the boutiques she had favoured before the war. She wasn’t even sure if they were because people didn’t like Death Eaters, or because they didn’t like lesbians. 

Either way it was about pride, she would say, as she watched Ginny’s lean body lounge against the doorframe over her reflection's shoulder, the curves of her muscular body visible through that little black dress she liked to wear on their anniversary. 

Besides, she knew the chopped style looked good on her, and that Ginny appreciated it, too. It made her look wild and untamed, as she pressed Ginny up against the wall after a particularly stressful day, fucking her in the front foyer. 

Pansy tried to shake herself out of her thoughts, grinding up a handful of occamy eggshells, and sprinkling them slowly into the mixture as she stirred. A soft yet gravelly male voice crackled through a record player that Pansy had set up in her basement office, and she felt a quick tug in her chest at the lyrics. She hadn’t thought much about putting the music on, she’d done some clever spellwork to get all her favourites onto one record. She’d forgotten about this song. 

_Warm lips on the back of my neck_

_Oh, I'm spinning in circles chasing her shadow silhouette_

She felt the ghost of Ginny’s kiss on her cheek, arms, neck, and hands. Ginny loved to kiss Pansy’s hands, hold them to her lips, breathe warmth and life into her palms. Pansy’s neck flushed at the memory, the pink tinge almost bittersweet. She’d listened to this song a lot in the past. When her and Ginny first met again post-war, she would throw it on repeat with a bottle of wine, and think about how she would never deserve someone so good. 

Pansy tried not to care that she was gone so much. She was supposed to be Ginny’s number one fan, for Merlin's sake. Lately, Quidditch had been taking up most of her girlfriend’s life, and a niggling doubt had slowly crept into Pansy’s mind. She wasn’t sure when it had started: when Ginny left, or before? Maybe the doubt had been resting there, in her chest, waiting for the right moment to make itself known, to remind Pansy that she didn’t deserve this. 

She hated waking up in an empty bed, clutching her frigid hands to her chest, the house they shared eerily quiet. 

Seeing pictures of the Harpies in the Prophet also didn’t help. There was one, Davis something, who always had her _fucking_ arm around Ginny, and was always looking at her like some... some lovesick puppy, and honestly, Pansy was sick of it. She knew she shouldn’t read the Prophet, but every time an owl swooped through the kitchen window and dropped the rolled-up paper on the counter, she couldn’t help reaching for it. 

Was Ginny cheating on her? She sprinkled some crushed mint into her potion and wrinkled her nose. Her puggish nose. Salazar, when had she started brewing potions for a living? This was Draco’s thing, not hers. She was supposed to be a fashion designer, a socialite, a journalist. Not some boring, half-arsed inventor, slaving over a hot cauldron, wasting away their days making stupid beauty pastes and gimmicky youth elixirs. Sure, no one knew beauty and skincare like Pansy Parkinson, but when she’d sat through Potions class in her youth, ambitions set on fame and fortune and beautiful women, this was not what she’d been picturing. Maybe going to University, to take up being a beautician full time. But no, she’d spiralled, and Draco had been doing her a huge favour believing in her talents with nothing to show for them. 

_I never believed in love_

_Oh, they tease you with the kiss, they'll tease you with the tongue_

She knew it was stupid to think Ginny would cheat on her—weren’t Gryffindors known to be, like, loyal, or whatever? But they were also risk-takers, bold, brave, and in Ginny’s case (in Pansy’s opinion), absurdly beautiful. What if Ginny felt that Pansy was getting boring? She stepped pack to check the flames beneath the potion, and noticed her warped reflection in the burnished silver of her cauldron. She pushed at her cheeks, smoothing a finger over her pointed eyebrows. 

What if Ginny thought she was ugly? Merlin, she was so washed up. 

_Oil on leather, brown eyes to stone_

_Oh, they lead you to the water and they leave you there to drown_

Sighing, Pansy waved her wand and brought the potion to a low simmer, walking over to her record player. She stood above it, watching the black vinyl spinning round, her own curly handwriting running in unintelligible circles. She knew what she had labeled this vinyl, she knew all her vinyls, every playlist filed away in her mind like the folders she flipped through. The record Ginny would throw on in the morning, gentle acoustics that would coax them out of sleep, along with a strong cup of tea. Pansy had never met someone who made tea, or coffee for that matter, like Ginny. Something useful from that insane upbringing of hers. The record she liked to put on in the evenings, songs that gave her an excuse to take Ginny in her arms, swaying through the living room. Pansy was a solid head taller than Ginny, she had always been too long and stringy, or at least that was how she thought of it. Ginny would call her long and lithe. She had albums for rainy days, for focusing, ones that made her feel like a boss bitch, one for getting ready to go out. 

Why had she put this one on? These were her melancholy songs, not quite heartbreak, but not quite whole, songs that meant a little bit more than they should. 

_Take me in your tender arms, roll me in the dirt_

_Cover me in roses, cover me in pearls_

The words shoved her so viscerally into the past that she snatched the arm from the record, the needle making a satisfying shriek across the black vinyl. She was going to have to fix that later, but for now she listened to the quiet humming as the record kept spinning, the music continuing unbidden in her mind. 

And then she heard it. Someone was walking around upstairs. She clutched her wand in her hand—no one was supposed to be here, and she always kept the doors locked. One intrusive Potter fan taught her that; hell-bent on the idea that if they could take Pansy out of the picture then Ginny and Harry could get back together. It was idiotic, really, because even if Harry was bi, he’d only ever truly had eyes for Draco. Her and Ginny hadn’t been living together at the time, but the only person who had ever rivalled Pansy’s inventive hexes was Ginny herself, so it had all been rather fine. 

She crept up the basement stairs, pausing at the top to listen. Whoever it was didn’t seem to be bothered about being heard, as a chair scraped across the floor. Holding her breath, Pansy pushed open the door, stepping cautiously into the kitchen. 

The blue floral curtains that Molly had bought them fluttered innocently in the window, the ones that Pansy had hated at first, because they made it feel like a cottage, but had slowly grown to like. The kitchen was empty except for the various plants that lined the walls, but she could hear it—someone was doing... something in the living room. As she crept forward, she heard the sound of something clattering to the floor, then a rustling, and footsteps. Pansy nearly dropped her wand. Those steps were familiar; she’d spent years growing accustomed to the specific way Ginny transferred her weight from heel to toe, stumbling upstairs in the dark, dancing through the living room, or shuffling bleary-eyed around the kitchen in golden sunlight. 

Her knuckles went white as she clutched her wand, almost tighter than when she’d thought there was a stranger in her house. She glanced into the mirror in the hallway, debated taking off the headband, but then just tidied her hair up a bit, took off the smock she wore when doing potions and threw it over the banister, then walked into the living room. 

Ginny was wobbling on a chair, putting up a sparkly silver and green banner over the fireplace. Ginny stepped down to admire her handy work, turned to pick up another decoration, and jumped. 

“Bloody hell Pans! I thought you were delivering your shipment today!”

Pansy crossed her arms, quirking an eyebrow, as she tried to keep her voice even. “That’s this weekend.” 

Ginny cursed under her breath, and then opened her arms wide, motioning towards the decor. “Surprise?” 

The room was covered in green, silver, red, and gold, a collection of streamers, confetti, and a great big ‘happy birthday’ banner strung across the mantle. She had even transfigured the furniture into the appropriate colours. 

“Aren’t we a bit old for house colours?” Pansy asked, and she watched Ginny’s face fall. She had literally just been reminiscing about Hogwarts, but she couldn’t help the snip from tumbling out. 

“I just thought,” Ginny began, her brow darkening, “I mean, I thought—” She crossed her arms, watching as Pansy came forward.

“Cat got your tongue?” 

“Fuck off,” she said, as Pansy took a balloon from the floor and waved her wand, spiriting it onto the wall. 

“You are a witch, aren’t you?” she asked, but her voice held no bite. Ginny rolled her eyes and reached out, looping a finger through Pansy’s jeans, pulling her even closer.

“I am, and if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’ll hex that pretty little headband off.” 

Pansy pocketed her wand and pressed her nose to the top of Ginny’s head, breathing in deeply, hands hanging limply at her side. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Ginny smelled like wind, something floral that Pansy thought was jasmine, and something else she couldn’t quite place, but which made warmth unfold in her chest. 

“I missed you,” Pansy said into Ginny’s hair, so quietly she barely even heard it herself. Ginny placed a hand on the back of Pansy’s neck and forced them to look at each other. For a moment, Ginny’s warm brown eyes searched Pansy’s face. There was a fire there, a crackling heat that flickered with softness. 

“I missed you too,” she said, hand tightening on the back of Pansy’s neck. “Did you think I didn’t?” 

Pansy flared her nostrils, sighing, “Maybe.” 

“I’m sorry, Pans, but that’s such bullshit. Of course I missed you.” 

“I know, I just—” Pansy tried, the words clogging her throat. “You’re always gone for so long.” 

Ginny brought her hand around, brushing a knuckle along Pansy’s cheekbone. “Is there anything I can do to make it better for you?” 

Pansy shook her head. “Why are you here, what happened to training for the championship?” 

Ginny laughed, “I’m one of their best players. I could pull a few strings with Cap to get a private Portkey. It helps that our birthdays are only six days apart.” 

Pansy tried a smile; it stretched on her lips foreignly. “It would be rude, really, to keep us apart.” 

“I know you don’t like it when I’m away,” Ginny said, “but I can’t stop Quidditch.” 

Pansy finally remembered her hands and gently placed them on Ginny’s waist. “I don’t want you to stop Quidditch.” 

“Good.” 

“I feel,” she steeled herself, “I don’t like where I’m at in life right now.”

“With work?”

“With work.” 

“Then let’s fix this, together.” Ginny brushed a stray piece of hair that had escaped Pansy’s headband behind her ear. “People love you, Pansy, even if you don’t believe it. Show Blaise the designs you’ve been working on.” 

“But—” 

Ginny pressed a finger to Pansy’s lips. “Nope, stop right there Mrs. Parkinson, I know what you’re going to say, and it’s not true, anyone would kill to wear the outfits you dream up.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes, and suddenly the mood in the room shifted. The streamers glittered more brightly, and Pansy let her hands slip down to cup Ginny’s firm arse. “Are people coming over?” 

“Just a few.” Ginny grinned in relief. “Harry, Draco, Luna, Blaise, Ron, Hermione, Neville.” 

“That’s fine,” Pansy simpered, squeezing Ginny’s bum, “as long as we’ve got time to catch up.” 

Ginny bit her lip, eyes lighting up hungrily. “Oh don’t worry. I’ve made plenty of time in my schedule.” 

Their lips met, and Pansy maneuvered them towards the sofa, swiping her tongue across Ginny’s bottom lip. Pansy pushed her backwards, kneeling between Ginny’s legs. There was a brief moment in which they sat like that, Ginny looking down into Pansy’s eyes, sun streaming in through the living room window. Pansy finally realized that Ginny had put the radio on, and a woman’s honeyed, clear voice was drifting through the room. 

“Happy?” Ginny asked, tilting her head to one side, her red hair glittering in the sun, bright against the emerald couch. 

Pansy pressed a cheek into Ginny’s knee. “Happy.” 


End file.
